0 Comments
0 Shares
37 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
Blood and MagnoliasThe air in Oakhaven smelled like magnolias and rot. It was a particular kind of smell, one you could only find in the deep South in late spring—sweet flowers blooming on ancient trees above ground that was itself slowly digesting the bones of people who had lived and died and been buried in it, generation after generation, until the earth itself became a kind of slow, wet memory. I had been...0 Comments 0 Shares 17 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Observer at Five PointsI. The basement smelled like damp concrete and the cheap coffee Mrs. O'Brien made, which was not coffee at all but something brown and hot that she called coffee because it was easier than explaining. I was thirty years old, and I had been living in this basement for eight months. The apartment above the basement was where Mrs. O'Brien lived—with her cat, her radio, and her opinion that I was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 14 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Gilded TrustNew York, 1924. The city was a fever dream of gold and jazz, a place where the skyscrapers reached for a heaven that the people had long since forgotten. Samuel Vanderbilt sat at the apex of this dream, the master of the city's infrastructure, a man who owned the very veins through which the city's lifeblood flowed. But Samuel was a man of shadows. He lived in a penthouse of marble and glass,...0 Comments 0 Shares 22 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Weight of Dust## Act I: The Outset Oakhaven was a town where the wind only blew in one direction: toward the graveyard. It was a place of rusted silos and grey skies, a relic of an industrial boom that had ended forty years ago, leaving behind a population of people who were as hollow as the factories they once worked in. Toby was nineteen, with a restless energy that felt like a foreign language in...0 Comments 0 Shares 59 Views 0 Reviews
-
The House of MaudreilThe road to Oakridge was the kind of road that Southern maps forgot to draw—narrow, unpaved, flanked by cypress trees whose knees rose from the swamp water like the knuckles of drowned men. I drove my rental car slowly, the air conditioning rattling like an old man's breathing, and watched the delta landscape unfold in shades of green and brown and the grey of approaching rain. I was...0 Comments 0 Shares 33 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Silence of the Neon Rain(Neo-Pulp Variation) The rain in New Vegas didn't just fall; it dissolved. It was a chemical slurry that tasted of ozone and old copper, turning the neon glare of the Strip into a smeared, psychedelic watercolor. Elias Thorne sat in a booth at 'The Rusty Bolt', a dive bar where the air was thick with the smell of synthetic tobacco and desperation. He was a man of precise habits and an imprecise...0 Comments 0 Shares 31 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Starlight ProjectThe watch had stopped at 4:19 on a Tuesday that had not yet arrived. I first noticed it in Florence, three weeks after I woke up in a hospital bed with a heart attack that hadn't happened yet. The smartwatch—my Apple, still charged, still connected to nothing—displayed a date that made no sense: October 19, 2029. Black Tuesday. The day the markets would crash, the day I would lose everything,...0 Comments 0 Shares 29 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Other Side of the MirrorThe first session with Client X began on a Monday in March, which is to say it began on a day that was indistinguishable from every other day in my practice. I am Arthur Payne. I am forty-five years old. I am a psychologist with a private practice on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. I specialize in trauma and post-traumatic stress. I have been doing this work for eighteen years. I am good at...0 Comments 0 Shares 34 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Glass HorizonThe city of Neo-Kyoto was a forest of obsidian and light, where the rain fell in rhythmic pulses and the wind smelled of ozone and old ink. In the shadow of the Great Spire, where the corporate lords lived in floating gardens, Julian lived in the "Under-City," a labyrinth of neon alleys and steam-filled vents. He was a "Memory-Sculptor," a technician who could prune the traumas of the wealthy,...0 Comments 0 Shares 41 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek